Unbalanced
by bestia
Summary: New Chapter Up. Warning: Not A Happy Ending. Surprise Conclusion.
1. Entry

**( I'm not sure why I decided to do this, but I do have the plot entirely in my mind, and yes, I'm still working on MtMtE (More Than Meets The Eye), I'm almost through with the next chapter, in fact. In any case, like all of my stories, this one has warnings. The following chapter and the ones to come deal with _adult themes, slash, and domestic abuse_, so if you don't care to, don't read it. )**

The door was thrown open unceremoniously.

Rasoul ignored the startled motion the small figure on the bed gave at such a loud and violent act, turning to lock the door. He grumbled to himself as he removed his boots. It was a crappy hotel, yet again, some dirt-poor run establishment. There wasn't much he was given furniture wise, save for a shaky brass bed and a nightstand covered in a thick sheet of dust. With a snort of disgust, he set his boots to the side and preceded to unbuckle his gold, palace commissioned, polished belt. Softly, almost too quietly for him to notice at first, the recently disturbed youth who had been sleeping on the bed waiting for Rasoul rose cautiously, small hands, dwarfed by Rasoul's large, calloused ones, going to help at his belt.

Rasoul reacted violently, bowing up with such immediate reaction, that his younger partner stumbled back, flinching as if hit.

"I was just trying to-"

Rasoul cut off his guest's feeble excuse, a thick, large finger swinging down to point directly at the culprit's face.

"No! I told you, my guard wear is off limits. You keep your filthy hands off it." he said loudly, authoritatively, a tone he used for rowdy underlings, assuredly not appropriate for his already timid visitor. Strangely enough, it seemed to have an unusual effect on his listener, who while quieting, was twitching in fine arm muscles accompanying a skinny frame, lips suddenly finding themselves dry.

Rasoul nodded as if in approval, and removing his turban at his own pace, set all but his black vest and pants at a neat pile by the door. He then turned his attention to his company, who had become silent since Rasoul's chastisement, face and eyes turned down, shuffling awkwardly. The bastard son of a sneer and a smirk tilted the corner of Rasoul's mouth and he felt his mood suddenly improve as he gripped the other's arm in his hand, lifting the younger Arab bodily off the ground, dangling gawkily at Rasoul's whim.

"You've got about a minute to undress." he said, smile and menace all to evident in the grating heat that whipped across his captive's skin.


	2. Confrontation

**Last Time**

_"You've got about a minute to undress." he said, smile and menace all to evident in the grating heat that whipped across his captive's skin._

Aladdin didn't know whether to get sick, fight or flee, feet loosing feeling as they kicked for the ground. But of course, he knew what he _would _do, and his hand reached, defeated, for the hem of his own loose shirt. He was dropped immediately, and though his aggressor stepped back, he was basically left to his slow task of undressing with a measure of pointed lack of speed or purpose.

First, as he loosed his shirt and lifted it shyly over his head, he looked up warily into Rasoul's eyes. He found no appreciation there, no warmth, no passion (though why tonight should be different heaven knows why), just a grim satisfaction, a dark assurance that Aladdin deserved everything that was coming. Aladdin quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, once again fighting the urge to run, the twitching in his muscles making it difficult to undo his belt. He was afraid, he would admit that, but he was afraid every night, and yet every following night, he returned. So what did it matter?

His teeth worried his lip as he hesitated on his last wrapping round his waist that kept his way too baggy pants on him. He heard a snort of amusement, and with defiant heat in his eyes, ripped the cloth away. His pants pooled at his ankles, and with it, so did any shred of confidence he had left. He tried to cover himself in a defeated show of shame, but Rasoul was there, grabbing his wrists in a punishing grip, one that was sure to leave bruises, overwhelming Aladdin with his height and girth.

Aladdin twisted miserably, desperately as he felt the force of Rasoul's eyes on him, turning into himself, wishing he _could_ just crawl into himself and hide away from everything his life had become. But the more he struggled, the more it hurt and it was clear he was doing more harm than good. He pushed at Rasoul's front to try to disrupt his damn cocky stare; one that he knew would have this effect. He pushed with his knees, his elbows, anything.

"Stop it! Just leave me alone, Dammit Rasoul!"

Rasoul's bearded twisted expression broke out into a full out grin, mirthless. He shook Aladdin hard, only increasing the younger man's struggles; ignoring the slight pain the former hero of Agrabah's sharp angles caused his unprotected stomach.

"That's it streetrat, fight me."

Aladdin's voice cracked, and his fingers worked spasmodically, testing rapidly loosing circulation. He felt hot, angry tears prick the corners of his eyes awkwardly.

"Get off me. I didn't, it wasn't my fault! You have no right!"

That's when Rasoul's smile disappeared, and he slung Aladdin into the nearest wall, watching intently as his face twisted in pain, eyes shut as his head thudded into the wall and he slid down it, holding his wrists dejectedly, hissing through his teeth in pain. But Rasoul was on him once more, lashing out with his heavy foot into Aladdin's rib cage, then bearing down on him like the most feral of bears, voice a full throated roar of righteous indignancy.

" You want me to get off you? Well tough shit, gutter trash. Your wishes mean nothing to me, you hear me? I should have started this a long time ago, to put you in your Allah damn place. They gave you a break, gave you an inch, and what did you do?"

He shouted, demanding answer. His rage doubled when Aladdin avoided his eyes, saying nothing.

"And What Did You Do?" he shouted once again.

Only then did Aladdin respond, only then did he leap to his feet. He screamed back, throat raw sounding, almost as if he had been crying many times before. His boldness was hot, and his counter guilt laden, so to the careful listener, it sounded almost like he was screaming at himself.

"Nothing, Ok? Absolutely nothing! I didn't do one damn thing, you happy?"

His verbal stand was cut off as Rasoul's hand went about his throat.

"Not until you bleed for it."


	3. Animal Instinct

_"Not until you bleed for it."_

But what he wasn't expecting was Aladdin to lash out with his fist, catching him across the lip. He tasted his own blood, and it only fueled him, squeezing delicate flesh between his sword coarse fingers. This time, Aladdin's foot swung up to strike his collarbone with hectic force, and Rasoul momentarily lost pressure in his grip around Aladdin's neck, which was all he really needed to slip free and fly at Rasoul, using any appendage Allah ever gave him, sole purpose to hurt the man before him, whose very presence made his blood boil.

Rasoul met him head on like a steel wall, backing up a step only to use their momentum to swing Aladdin into the obstacle of the metal post that ran from the foot of the bed. Aladdin faltered in discomfort, but only for a moment, bringing his knee up quick and hard, aiming right for Rasoul's...

Rasoul caught it.

"Now Now, I know you have no class but at least fight clean."

Holding Aladdin's knee up to his chest to pinion him, he battered Aladdin, battered down the arms that flew up to protect his face, battered the chest and stomach that heaved in emotion. He let go suddenly, letting Aladdin collapse to the floor, where his younger partner turned to spit blood on the floor.

Rasoul looked down at Aladdin in disgust, at the tousled head streaked with sweat and blood.

"Disgusting" he snorted.

Aladdin looked up weakly, hopelessly, unknowingly having the wrong desired affect on Rasoul.

"Get up", Rasoul ordered, offering no room for disobedience or squabble. Aladdin hesitated, rising up slowly on one knee, till Rasoul, in his impatience, yanked him up by his arm and hurled him on the dirty mattress, Aladdin rolling gracelessly. Rasoul followed with more direction, grabbing a thigh that was scrabbling for purchase. Aladdin flopped down in defeat, and howled when Rasoul's hand cupped him between the legs. He shut his eyes tightly. Rasoul's touch burnt, it made his skin crawl, pores hiss out steam, and lungs tighten, because Rasoul's hands worked without fondness or concern. But he didn't dare fight this. No he didn't dare fight this, he resolved as his head tossed on the pillow in an effort to forget the present.

Rasoul's teeth grit in his head, grinding together imperceptibly. Aladdin disgusted him; Aladdin enraged him, but most of all, Aladdin provoked and motivated him. His fingers ignored Aladdin's own manhood, as painfully uninterested as it was, moving with rough fingertips to dip into Aladdin's very own body without patience or specific know how, even after all these months. Aladdin arched, bit his lip until it bled to keep from screaming in pain as his insides were scraped and abused, hurriedly stretched. A drop of sweat from Rasoul's forehead landed on Aladdin's shoulder, and an abject sob wrenched itself from his emotion wrapped throat.

"That tears it" Rasoul growled.

He rose, painfully hard, mammoth erection bumping Aladdin's thigh as, like a rag doll, he jerked him up with him. He dragged the stumbling teen once again to the foot of the bed, situating him between the posts. Aladdin's hands instinctively went up to grass them as a hand on his back forced him to bend. His legs shook as Rasoul abandoned any other efforts of preparing him for what was to come, instead taking his smaller hips in his hands.

For a moment, it was only their breathing, their chorused, panting, upset breathing. Then Rasoul's whole countenance darkened, as if in remembrance, and slammed home with bone shaking force. Aladdin jarred forward, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide as his entire body tightened around the spear inside him, arching backwards but hands still desperately clutching the posts.

An almost animalistic growl of satisfaction rumbled in Rasoul, and he pulled out with a painstakingly unhurried, grating motion, Aladdin's keening in his own throat. He then thrust forward once more; no inhibitions or mercy lessening the force in which he did it, and this time Aladdin did find it in him to scream. But instead of trying to shush or silence him, Rasoul only seemed to be trying to encourage it, twisting and turning his punishing plunges into the other's wracked body, as if to intensify Aladdin's pain.

Aladdin's mind was lost to red pain, the volume of his own yells for mercy giving him a headache but damned if he was going to stop, and damned if he actually believed help was coming. Rasoul had most obviously paid off the hotel owners', as he did every hotel, but not many men would have the guns to interrupt whatever the Captain of the Guard was doing anyhow. Aladdin could only hold on, swim away in his own mind from the pain in his lower back, the throbbing in his abused body, and the sharp tickle in his eyes. That's when he realized he was crying; his screams dying as hot tears splashed busily on his chest and he slumped forward, feeling the hot sting of Rasoul's release inside his torn body.

Rasoul's weight stayed on him, for a moment, breathing hard in his ear, until he pulled up with an unpleasant grunt. He dragged Aladdin by the waist to the bed, where he collapsed, and his arms round his younger partner's middle as he succumbed to post coital exhaustion.

Aladdin stared at the wall for some time before he too slept.


	4. Retribution

**Last Time:**

_Rasoul's weight stayed on him, for a moment, breathing hard in his ear, until he pulled up with an unpleasant grunt, dragging Aladdin by the waist to the bed, where he collapsed, arms round his younger partner's middle as he succumbed to post sex exhaustion._

_Aladdin stared at the wall for some time before he too slept._

Sunlight poured into the room in thick rays, bar shaped streams of honeyed sunlight, carrying the noises of bustling, human activity that accompanied morning in Agrabah. They stirred Aladdin, brought an unwelcome awakening. He rolled over in the sheets. Instantly, he was aware of a crippling, burning, ache that was vividly present in a place no one should hurt like that. He groaned, gritting his teeth and trying to find a way to lie where the hurt turned from raw slivers of hot, nerve pain, to just a dull, red ache. When his thighs brushed together, they felt sticky, and itchy. Sickly, he realized that was dried blood, chapped on his skin. He realized dully he'd have to find some place to shower.

He turned over, seeing the great indention where Rasoul had lain asleep. It dipped into the yellowed, torn sheets, and the musk of the man hovered like a testament to his last-night presence.

Aladdin swallowed, feeling the extent of how raw his throat had become in such a short time. He wasn't surprised Rasoul left, he never stayed after he got what he wanted. He had a family to go to and a job.

Now was a time of great disorder in the city, and there was a determined scramble to get things back under reign. There were muggings and looting wildly abroad. The few innocent remaining weren't safe, and there just wasn't enough manpower to keep all criminals and scum under control. Foreign dignities poured in daily, trying to force the still grieving Sultan's hand into action. Villains and enemies of the crown saw all of this like one giant field day, and attacked daily. Genie was hard pressed, as was Carpet and what remained of the defenders.

Nothing would ever be the same after the death of Agrabah's princess.

Her funeral was a huge, devastating, openly brokenhearted affair. Men, women and children sobbed in the streets, following her black, lace thrown coffin as it was carried by eight of the royal stables finest white horses. The casket was closed, as her mangled corpse was not how the city wanted to remember her.

She was beautiful, assured to take over when the Sultan died and bring about a better, smarter, more benevolent rule. From her marriage to Aladdin, and her deeds following, it was clear she was to change things, and her people couldn't wait. The entire citizen populous followed the carriage containing her coffin, the Sultan riding in the front seat, stone faced, and never tearing his eyes away from the horizon, which was insufferably bright and sunny. She was to be buried in the same oasis her mother and father had visited on their honeymoon, where the late Sultana was laid to rest. For weeks, mourners poured into the haven, laying down offerings, flowers and sorrow.

What had bothered Aladdin after the most was how unexpected Mirage's attack was. They had exchanged...words during his and her last encounter, taunts and mocking jeers, the usual, nothing out of the ordinary, then, on the day of a public address to the city, she had struck.

Mirage descended like a black cloud, with her firecats, her hell fire and brimstone. There was instant pandemonium, as the citizens scrabbled from the public square they were all so vulnerably gathered in. Naturally, the wonder team split to do as much good as they could, Aladdin originally going after Mirage herself, though Genie taking over. Aladdin was whisked away atop Carpet and, sword in hand, set himself to keeping the firecats from mauling and scarring his future people, the women and children he had grown up with, such easy targets for the beasts. It was a desperate situation, and Aladdin could only assure himself Jasmine was still doing what he saw her attending to last, trying to safely get her father back into the palace, so she too could join the good fight.

Then there came the screams. Aladdin looked up, and instantly, a bubbling set of claws raked across his front, and in shock, he fell, hot blood pouring from his wound. But still his eyes were set on the balcony. Jasmine, backed into a corner, Mirage, bearing down on her like a vixen of hate. Aladdin struggled to his feet, clapping an unconcerned hand to his muscle deep marring. He stumbled in his blood, the shifting, melting sand, and numbly started to run. Where was Carpet? Where was Carpet? He tried to whistle for his friend, he did.

Carpet slid under his feet and carried him into the air just as Mirage's hissing green claws fell.

He had shouted her name in heart tearing agony, watching in abject horror as she crumpled. He got there and hurtled off Carpet when Mirage was then leaning over Jasmine, taunting her as Jasmine stared up, disbelieving the pain and the blood soaking her top.

Guards were yelling, her father, restrained from running to her, Mirage, casting all of Jasmine's protectors aside effortlessly. A scream of rage, and Aladdin, without the inhibited restraint that before had kept his killing instinct at bay, plunged the sword into the small of Mirage's back. She had reared, roaring and spurting catatonic hisses, clawing to reach back and remove it. Grimly, Aladdin twisted the weapon, shredding her insides. She turned swiftly, pivoting to strike Aladdin across the face, open clawed. He turned at the last moment, and received the wound that would result in a cross shaped scar across his face. She then disappeared in green, and assumedly, her cats with her.

But that was of no importance to Aladdin. He pushed through the crowd kneeling, hundreds of people, caring, worrying, crying and supporting. He clapped a hand across his mouth, feeling the reflexive nausea.

There were awful tears across her throat and neck, seeping red incisions, blood flooding her, the acid in Mirage's attacks blackening her surrounding skin. He knelt by her, took her hand, weakly saying her name over and over, screaming angrily for Genie, a doctor, bandages, someone. He pressed her spasmodically refluxing palm to his cheek, kissing it, smoothing the sweaty bangs from her brow. She was in pain, her expression twisted, tears blurring her vision. She said his name, arched off the ground, cried his name, and finally whispered it as he said a thousand apologies, and begged her to stay.

She shuddered, and smiled at him. Then she was no more, eyes slipping close, head turning to the side.

Aladdin wouldn't leave her body, wouldn't give up, until he was forcibly pried from her cooling body, which the palace attendants had silently taken away to be cleaned and dressed. He had beat on Genie, cursing him, asking what was his use?

Soon, he fell into one of the deepest holes human emotion can lead you in. It was a dark, deep, impenetrable depression, prone to fitful, occasional, rages, at Mirage, at Genie, at himself. In next to no time, he boiled over with self-hate. Why couldn't he have been there? Why hadn't he been faster? It was his entire fault.

The city turned against him too, though some choose to do it silently, giving him long, hard looks of accusation when he would occasionally come down from his hovel roof, where he spent weeks without food or water, company or accommodations. His howls, his pain and intolerable loss weren't enough, as it cycled deep with in him. It made his eyes dead, his friends abandoning him as lost and crazed. They were sad for him, but the chaos immediately following the assassination needed them, and they had their own mourning.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him, until he had chanced upon meeting Rasoul and his men when he had wandered alone and lost down the back alleys of the cities.

More exactly, they had cornered him, and used him to the full extent of their emotions, pouring all of their blame into him and the fists that connected with his skin. He didn't put up a fight, and was soon subject to physical tortures. No pity for his pain did he find amongst these scorned men. He was tied, beaten, dragged, spit on, kicked, speared and cut, burned and whipped.

Eventually, as the shadows began to lengthen, and he lifelessly rose to his broken knees, shaking the fluids they pissed upon him from his hair, he was approached by Rasoul. He was given an offer he couldn't refuse, nor did he want to.

That's when it all began.

He knew Rasoul blamed him. He blamed himself, quite frankly.

He and Rasoul had a weird relationship. And yet it worked. You see, Aladdin needed to repent, and Rasoul was all too willing to oblige


End file.
